


Bypass

by virdant



Series: The Road Not Taken [3]
Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Violence, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7304179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When Koki was young—as young as Juri is now, maybe even younger, it’s hard to remember—he does his best to stand out.</i> </p><p>
  <i>Stand out the right way, with a nice smile and a can-do attitude. He’s a thug, but he’s a thug who respects his elders and knows how to play Johnny’s game. He networked with the other boys, making his way up the ranks until he was there...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reiicharu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiicharu/gifts).



> It is not critical to read To Walk the Higher Road or Waiting at the Crossroads before reading Bypass. Bypass was written with the intent that the reader has already read both; however, it should be fine as a stand-along. This was meant to rest as a secondary P.O.V. in Road Not Taken AU, and is best approached with the understanding of the underlying concept: Taguchi is one of the frontman of KAT-TUN. 
> 
> For Rei, as usual. Sorry it took two years. Happy Birthday. Let's keep walking forward.
> 
>  
> 
> For best effect, please click the "Entire Work" button to read the story as it was intended to be read.

When Koki was young—as young as Juri is now, maybe even younger, it’s hard to remember—he does his best to stand out.

Stand out the right way, with a nice smile and a can-do attitude. He’s a thug, but he’s a thug who respects his elders and knows how to play Johnny’s game. He networked with the other boys, making his way up the ranks until he was there beside Yamashita Tomohisa, the golden boy of all Juniors.

He thought he was set, then. He had made it. All it took was hard work and elbow grease and a few too many American Hip Hop CDs.

So he got complacent. Just a little. Just: showing up a few minutes late to group practice—earlier than Yamapi, because he wasn’t that high up—or being snippy with his juniors instead of unfailingly courteous to his peers. It was only a bit complacent, but it was enough.

“I had such high hopes for you,” his manager at the time said, a little sadly. He shared this manager with the others in his group—BAD IMAGE GENERATION had their own manager, and Koki knew this meant that he had made it. His manager shook his head, disappointed. A month ago, two months ago, the action would have made Koki shrivel up and promise to do better.

“What high hopes?” Koki sneered. “Aren’t I flying past them already?”

A week later, Koki was assigned to Domoto Koichi’s new shiny back-dancing troupe. Even though it wasn’t phrased as a demotion, he knows what it is.

“I had such high hopes for you,” his manager had said.

He had never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

*

"You six," their general manager said, "are hand-picked by Domoto Koichi-san to be his personal back-dancing group."

Koki clenched his fists and seethed. They're called KAT-TUN, because they're a joke. A cartoon. Childish, foolish. 

"Like victory," one of the other juniors said. "Gatsuun!"

Another junior--Akanishi, who had been hand-picked by Johnny during auditions, Koki remembered him—groaned. "Why am I stuck with him," he muttered.

The general manager smiled at Victory Junior. "Good," he says. "KAT-TUN is named after all of you. Kamenashi-kun—"

"Yes!" A thin mousy boy sprung to his feet, bowed, and said, "Kamenashi Kazuya, I hope we work well together."

"Yes, yes," the manager said indulgently. "Akanishi-kun."

Akanishi bowed and waved.

"Taguchi-kun."

Victory Junior bounded to his feet. "Taguchi Junnosuke." He beamed, twirling once to bow to all of them. Even though they had yet to hit their growth spurts, Taguchi was already long, lanky, and knew how to dance.

He probably had been hand-picked by Domoto Koichi. He probably had been languishing in the back of the pack and Domoto Koichi had noticed his long limbs and the way he was lighter on his feet than all the other juniors and picked him out. Koki hated him.

"Tanaka-kun."

He jerked to his feet, grudgingly, and grunted, "Tanaka Koki. And don't forget my name."

The manager frowned at him, but said, "Ueda-kun."

Ueda Tatsuya bowed, introduced himself, and sat down with a completely neutral expression.

"And Nakamaru-kun."

Nakamaru Yuichi stood up, bowed, and said, unfailingly polite, "Nakamaru Yuichi. I'm pleased to be working with all of you."

"Get to know each other," the manager said. "You'll be spending a lot of time with each other."

Koki clenched his fists, seethed, and hoped his eyes could bore holes into their manager's retreating back.

_Not if I can help it._

*

Domoto Koichi had several performances lined up—a whole show worth of them—and they had three weeks to learn four episodes worth of performances. They were in practice the minute school ended, and they didn’t leave until late.

They had only been practicing for twenty minutes when Ueda tripped and bumped into Taguchi, who stumbled and fell into a gangly mess of limbs.

"Watch what you're doing," Koki snarled. "You can't do anything right, Taguchi."

"Don't be angry," Nakamaru said, hastily. "It wasn't his fault."

"So you're throwing the blame around, is that it?" Koki demanded. "Won't be satisfied until we're all ground down."

"You're the one who isn't satisfied," Ueda muttered.

Koki whirled around. "You can't even dance without tripping on your feet! What are you doing in Johnny's?"

"I want to be a star," Taguchi says quietly.

"You're doing so well at that right now." Ueda rolled his eyes.

Koki agreed, secretly. But instead he snarled, “You should just quit! You’re no good at all!”

Kamenashi lectured, “You shouldn’t make mistakes.” He brushed off his pants, as if he had been the one to fall, and they were practicing on dirt instead of heavily varnished and polished wooden floors.

Akanishi drawled, “It’s not that hard.”

Taguchi looked around at them. “Then we should keep practicing,” he said, smiling tentatively.

“Forget it!” Koki whirled on the balls of his feet—neatly, sharply, this is how proper Juniors, ones that are so close to debuting before they have it snatched out of their grasp—and stalked towards the door. “You’re all useless,” he shouted, spinning around with one hand on the handle. “Fuck you!”

He made sure to slam the door on the way out.

Fuck you. He tasted the English in his mouth, thick and heady, like the alcohol they sometimes tried sips of after performances that nobody was supposed to share but everybody did. Fuck. He liked the sound of that word, the sharpness of it.

He lingered at the doorway, wondering if anybody would come out, and plead for him to come back. But he only heard the sound of music starting again, Kamenashi going: “One, and two, and three, and four, and—”

*

The next day, Taguchi cornered him by the vending machines.

“Tanaka-kun, I wanted to apologize,” Taguchi said politely. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset, but I’m sorry.”

The pity tasted acrid in his throat. “I don’t need your pity,” he snapped, reaching forward to push Taguchi away.

Taguchi’s legs were shoulder-width apart, a solid foundation, and he didn’t move out of the way. “It’s not pity, Tanaka-kun. I want KAT-TUN to work.”

“How can it work when you’re a piece of shit?” he snapped. “All of you: bringing me down.” He pushed Taguchi again.

Taguchi stepped away. Koki stormed away, or tried to. He froze when Taguchi said, quietly, “If you’re so special, why is your name second?”

“Are you dumb?” Koki whirled around. “Akanishi’s name is second.”

“The two of us,” Taguchi said. His mouth was pursed closed, unlike practice when it was always stretched wide in a grin, even if they were all exhausted. “Why is your name second?”

“Who knows; I’m not management,” Koki snapped. He turned around, and stalked away.

His nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm. Why was Taguchi’s name before his?

*

They had a performance; KAT-TUN was taped up on the door to their green room and Koki stared at it for a long time.

People—staff—scurried about, preparing for the recording. There were more than enough people to see him, to pause and tell him to stop.

He reached up and tore the second T away.

If they wanted somebody so badly, then they could have Taguchi.


	2. Chapter 2

He painted his nails now—black, usually. He worked meticulously, painting one coat, two coats, three coats, and then top coat in smooth strokes the same way he pulled on costume outfits only to strip them off to the cheers of the crowd.

He was painting his nails when he got the news—no warning for KAT-TUN, not when it was Akanishi delivering the news.

“LA?” he demanded, storming into the meeting room.

Taguchi looked up at him from where he was playing on his phone, lounging on the couch without a care on the world. The room was otherwise empty. 

“Where are the others?”

“Still coming.” Taguchi shrugged. “Except for Jin-kun. He’s on a plane to LA.” Koki snarled and made to swipe at him. Taguchi ducked and said, “It’s not me you want to hit, Koki.”

Koki glared, but didn’t lift his leg to kick at Taguchi knee.

Instead, he lifted Taguchi’s legs to sit down. Taguchi let his legs hover for a moment before resting his legs in Koki’s lap in tacit forgiveness. They sat in uncharacteristic silence while they waited.

Kamenashi filed in last, clutching authority around him desperately. “We’ll continue as five,” he said to their manager in the corner. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“This changes everything,” Ueda corrected. He had been their leader for a brief period, and Koki still remembered desperate-to-please Kamenashi going “Right, Leader?” as if that would change the fact it was Kamenashi giving orders and suggestions and not Ueda.

Koki could see, now, why management had chosen Ueda for their leader. Right now, Ueda looked over them, his eyes sharp and thoughtful.

Kamenashi didn’t say anything, just sat down in a chair. They turned, as one, to their manager. 

He looked back at them, smiled, and said: “We must all make changes. I’m glad you boys are handling this maturely, but we will have to come up with a press statement, and that means that you have to decide.”

“Decide what?” Nakamaru asked.

Their manager said, “Decide what to do with Akanishi-kun.”

When Koki arrived home, his nails were ragged, indents scored into the black lacquer from where they had run against sharp edges while still damp. A bottle lay on its side, empty. It had dried all over his floor in a thick strip, gleaming wetly in the light.

He clenched his fist, running a thumb along the ragged polish on his finger. Damn that Akanishi.

*

Koki repainted his nails, stripping off the ragged remains of yesterday to add three fresh coats. He showed up early to the press conference, and the makeup artists clucked over the dark shadows under his eyes.

“You too?” Taguchi asked from where he was sitting in a chair, already.

“What about me?” Koki grumbled.

“Didn’t sleep well?” He jerked his chin towards the shadows that the make-up artists were clucking over.

“Don’t see how that matters to you.”

Taguchi turned away, back to the mirror, but his eyes were still on Koki, finding it in the reflection of the mirror. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?

Koki stared back: Taguchi’s eyes, wide, honest, trusting. He could stamp out all hope with one word. Instead he closed his eyes so the makeup artist could brush foundation over his eyelids.

“Sure, Taguchi.”

Taguchi glanced at him, and Koki pretended not to notice.

The others trudged in, preparing for the press conference. Koki closed his eyes and ran his index finger over the smooth veneer on his thumbnail. 

When they filed out to tell the reporters that Akanishi’s gone to LA to study English, they’ll continue as five, please keep supporting us, he kept his finger on his thumbnail, running it smoothly back and forth.

Kamenashi bowed. “Please keep supporting us,” 

The rest of them bowed with him, in unison. Clean, neat, polished—like the varnish on his fingers.

*

The next few weeks were busy with schedules being reshuffled. They had been due for an album soon, but with Akanishi leaving, all the channels were talking about KAT-TUN, and they needed to strike while the iron was hot.

“We don’t have time for you to learn new songs,” their manager said, eying them critically. “Instead, we’ll record your old songs from when you were juniors and work with those.”

Kamenashi straightened his back. “Who will sing Akanishi-kun’s parts?”

Koki couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. When had Kamenashi called Akanishi “Akanishi-kun”? Kamenashi was ruthless, but he couldn’t be crazy enough to cut Akanishi so thoroughly from his life that he not only stopped referring to him as Jin, but also went back to honorifics.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ueda’s eyes narrow, briefly, and then resume their customary blankness. Nakamaru was staring, miserably, at his hands. Taguchi’s wide grin had faltered, briefly, but it was spreading again, slowly.

Their manager looked at them, and said, firmly, “We’ll decide that as we progress.” He said, “I trust all of you will brush up on your singing, now that Akanishi-kun is no longer here to cover for your mistakes.”

Kamenashi’s smile faltered for a second. “Yes,” he said, his chin jutting out. “We’ll work hard.”

“We’ll do our best,” Ueda muttered, sullenly. Nakamaru bobbed his head in agreement. Koki forced his chin to drop in a semblance of a bow.

Taguchi, he saw, was no longer smiling as he bowed.

*

Taguchi was at practice thirty minutes early, the next week, stretching carefully before each dance practice, favoring his leg.

Koki eyed the long gangly leg—not so gangly now, now that they were in their twenties. Taguchi had grown up, just like all of them.

“Still hurts?” he demanded.

Taguchi looked up, startled. “Koki,” he said. That was another thing that had changed. Taguchi had gotten _familiar_. Their manager had pulled them aside, but Koki wasn’t blind, and he knew that the stern glare was directed to him, more. Akanishi up and leaving meant they had to sell 5-man KAT-TUN even more vigorously, and he had pulled Koki aside and told him that they couldn’t be distant with each other off camera if they wanted to sell it on camera. So, Taguchi had become Junno, and Tanaka had become Koki. 

“Your leg,” Koki said. He couldn’t make himself say Junno, not right now. “It still hurts? I thought you got that fixed.”

He looked down, at his leg. “Ah, well,” he murmured, “you know how these things work. Injuries never completely heal.”

Taguchi was careful about it too. He showed up ten minutes early to each practice and stretched, carefully. He warmed up before doing any dancing. He ensured it would never be injured again.

This was borderline paranoia.

Koki snorted, and yanked his jacket over his head. “Better take good care of that leg, not that Akanishi’s gone.”

“Jin,” Taguchi said, softly. “He’s still our friend.”

“Friends don’t move to America without letting us know.”

Taguchi’s eyes were wide and empty. Koki hadn’t realized how empty they were, until now. He looked away, and Koki found himself staring down at his jacket, wrinkles forming from his tightly clenched fists. 

“I’m sorry,” Taguchi finally said. “I forgot that you were close.”

Koki snorted and turned away. There was a chip in his nail polish. He picked at it until it peeled away in a clean strip.

*

When they started doling out the lines, Koki didn’t get many extra new parts, and neither did Kamenashi, even though Kamenashi pouted and did his best Kimura Takuya smile.

He wasn’t that good at Kimura Takuya. Kimura-senpai was actually handsome, and Kamenashi’s face still looked unfortunately like a horse. It might have changed in the future; Kamenashi was just edging out of puberty, unlike the rest of them, and the hollows of his cheeks are growing more and more pronounced with each day that passed by without news from Akanishi.

No. Kamenashi pouted and smiled and flirted with the female managers and played up his obedient front man image for the male producers, but in the end, the producers called Nakamaru and Ueda and Taguchi over and had them split most of Akanishi’s parts.

“What about Koki?” Taguchi asked, glancing over at where Koki and Kamenashi were still sitting at the plastic table. Koki stared at the rap written on the paper before him. “He can also sing some of Jin’s parts.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Koki saw Ueda mouth: _Jin_. Ueda’s mouth was twisted with scorn.

“Tanaka-kun will be busy with his rapping.”

“I think he can do it,” Taguchi said firmly.

The producer looked at him. “Tanaka-kun, not going to say anything?”

What was Taguchi’s game? Koki wondered. What did he get out of this? Was he showing that he was a team player? Trying to emphasize that he was willing to make peace and be friends? Who was he trying to impress?

“Tanaka-kun?”

“I can do it.” Koki said, pushing back his chair as quietly as possible. He couldn’t stop himself from jabbing a sharp elbow into Taguchi’s side as he walked up, but Taguchi didn’t even flinch, just grinned at him as if he hadn’t felt it. “What do you want me to do?”

Their manager hummed, thoughtfully. The producer frowned at him. Koki tilted his chin up and tried to look pleasant. 

Kamenashi jerked to his feet, and the chair skittered backwards loudly, echoing in the small room. “Please let me help share this burden.”

Kamenashi’s manager, in the gaggle at the back of the room, smirked.

Kamenashi bowed. “It’s my fault that Akanishi-kun left. If I had been a stronger singer, he wouldn’t have felt so pressured to improve. I’ll do my best, from now on.”

Ueda snorted. Nakamaru’s mouth twitched, a bit, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to grimace or laugh. Taguchi just stared, his mouth lax and placid, his eyes narrowed into a smile. Koki turned away, unable to look at the Kimura Takuya smile.

The producer said, “Kamenashi-kun, it’s not your fault at all. _You_ aren’t responsible for Akanishi-kun’s irresponsibility. If only all of KAT-TUN could be more like you.”

“Oi,” Koki muttered. Taguchi nudged him with an elbow.

“We’ll do our best!” Kamenashi exclaimed. He turned to them, and even though Kamenashi had learned how to contort his muscles into a facsimile of joy, his eyes were even more empty than Taguchi’s, that day in the practice room.

“Yeah,” Ueda muttered, a corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. “Sure. What Kamenashi said.”

Taguchi bowed. “Please treat us well.”

*

The album topped the Oricon charts.

Their manager called a meeting.

“KAT-TUN-san,” he said. “You will be going to America.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Should we really be deciding this without Jin?” Taguchi demanded, fingers tapping angrily on the table. “It’s not—”

“He wants to come back,” Kamenashi said, standing at the head of the narrow table. He threw his shoulders back, as if to make himself look bigger, but despite going to the gym, Kamenashi still looked scrawny and young. “We get to decide if we want him back.”

Koki snorted. The past few months, Kamenashi had done a good job of pretending that KAT-TUN was a group, but his ego had only grown larger with each empty platitude.

“What’s there to decide?” Taguchi said matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Nakamaru grimaced. Ueda rolled his eyes, but quickly affected boredom when Taguchi glanced at him. Koki stared at his nails—black, again, and he had painted an extra coat when he heard that Kamenashi had called a meeting.

“You want him back?” Kamenashi demanded.

“He’s part of us, isn’t he?”

Koki kicked at the table, and the legs rattled. “Like hell,” he snapped. “Did you not forget how he left us?” Did Taguchi forget, in these months of playing happy-go-lucky friends? “He didn’t even tell us, just disappeared, and his manager had to let us know that he’s now in LA studying English!” He shoved his chair back, and it crashed against the floor.

“Koki,” Nakamaru began.

He wasn’t going to hurt Taguchi. He might be angry, but he wasn’t—he wasn’t Akanishi, who had smashed his foot into Taguchi’s knee when they were children. He wouldn’t do that to Taguchi, he wouldn’t aim at the knee.

Taguchi said, softly, “I didn’t realize we were still mad at him. It’s been six months.”

Koki felt his fingers curl tightly enough for the neatly manicured nails to bite into his palms. His forearms ached with the effort. Thinking of Akanishi Jin ditching them for LA rankled, still, six months after he had left.

Finally, Ueda said, “You’re not?” He sounded surprised. They had gotten used to being upset at Akanishi. They had taken his departure and turned it into momentum to wake up and practice. Finding out that Taguchi wasn’t upset—

“Well, he wants to come back now, right?” Taguchi shrugged a bit, his bangs lank and unstyled, covering his eyes. “And we…” His mouth cringed, a little, as if in guilt.

“Say it,” Koki snapped. He wanted to hear what they needed. They didn’t _need_ Akanishi anymore; hadn’t this year proved it? He slammed a palm on the table, finding perverse pleasure in seeing Kame flinch away, in Nakamaru’s sharp inhale, in Ueda’s rapid blinking. “Say it, Taguchi!”

Taguchi hadn’t flinched. He stared back, his eyes wide and his mouth just slightly slack. “Say what?”

Ueda’s mouth curved into a wicked smirk. “Yes, Koki,” he said. “Say what?”

Koki glared back, before turning to Taguchi.

“Where will we be then?” Taguchi murmured.

Koki rolled his eyes, slapping the table again. Always following some other train of thought. Nakamaru muttered, “Taguchi really can’t read the atmosphere, can he?”

Taguchi’s laugh was loud, unnervingly so. Kamenashi’s mouth was disquietingly neutral compared to Taguchi’s sharp grin. Taguchi said, “We need Jin’s voice.”

*

Ueda’s arms were all wiry muscle, and Koki could feel it as Ueda hauled him back, each digit of Ueda’s fingers digging into his forearm, snapping at him to stop shouting.

Koki could hear his voice, as if distantly, shouting “We don’t want him back, you bastard, we don’t need him, we don’t need that fucker; he ran off and ditched us and—”

“Stop it!” Nakamaru shouted, his voice loud and deep. “Don’t fight, Koki.”

Taguchi was lying on the ground; he had tripped on his chair when Koki had lunged for him. His hands clenched tightly into fists, and the past six months had taught Koki to recognize the grimace of pain that tightened the corners of his mouth.

Koki scowled, furiously, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll tell Koichi,” Taguchi said softly, distantly.

Koki stared at him. Had Taguchi hit his head?

“What?” Kamenashi said.

“I’ll tell Koichi,” Taguchi repeated, distantly. “Why did you say that?” he asked Kamenashi.

“I didn’t say anything!” Kamenashi protested. “What are you on about?”

Nakamaru leaned forward, his hand stopping before he could touch Taguchi. “Are you alright—” he said, slowly, “Junno?”

Taguchi said, in that same lost, distant voice: “Will we be alright, without Jin?”

*

The next day, Koki bought an extra bottle of Gatorade from the vending machine on his way to the meeting room. The meeting room that they had claimed for their own was empty, as usual, except for Taguchi sitting against the wall, carefully stretching out his leg.

He rolled the bottle in his palm. The plastic was damp with condensation; Koki wiped it off with the edge of his loose jersey before tossing it into Taguchi’s lap.

Taguchi looked up. 

“What did you mean, with that ‘I’ll tell Koichi’ nonsense?” He sat down on the scratchy meeting room carpet next to Taguchi, twisting open his bottle and taking a sip.

Taguchi stared down at the bottle. “Huh?” he said.

“Yesterday,” Koki clarified. “You asked Kame why he said he’d tell Koichi. Tell Koichi what? We haven’t worked with him since we were juniors.” And they weren’t, not anymore. They had an album that had topped the charts with Akanishi, and another one that had topped the charts without him.

Taguchi rolled the bottle back and forth. He hadn’t opened it yet, just rolled it between his palms and contemplated it, as if a bottle of sports drink held all of the answers to Koki’s questions. “I was just thinking of our fight. The one with Jin.”

KAT-TUN fought, all of the time, but there was only one _fight_. They all remembered what happened in it, or at least Koki did, because it still rankled how Akanishi had come out clean and smelling of roses, while the rest of them had been tossed to the dogs.

Taguchi didn’t elaborate, so Koki twisted open his bottle of Gatorade and took another long drag. It tasted like salt.

“What about the fight?” he finally asked.

“Do you remember what Kame did?”

Akanishi had been joking around, chatting excitedly, waving a fork around, and then whipped cream had landed on the tatami. “Clean that up,” he had demanded, because Akanishi had realized that he was the front man, but hadn’t quite realized that the rest of KAT-TUN didn’t care about that. He had picked Ueda, even though Ueda was the leader, had still been the leader, then, and demanded that Ueda clean his mess.

Ueda had stared back, eyes flat. “Make Kamenashi-kun do it, if you don’t want to clean up your own messes.”

Nakamaru had been quiet. Nakamaru was always quiet, always hesitant to get into fights.

Kame had bristled, upset that Ueda would make him clean up Jin’s mess? Upset about Jin?

Where had Taguchi been?

“I was in the toilet when it started,” Taguchi said, softly. “I don’t remember who started it.”

Akanishi had gotten angry that Ueda wasn’t going to listen to him, but he hadn’t wanted to get involved with Koki or Nakamaru. Instead he stormed out of the room—Koki had, at that time, thought that that would be the end of the mess. Akanishi would get some towels, wipe up the mess, and they would make their apologies and it would be over.

“Clean up the mess, Stupid Taguchi!” Akanishi had shouted, dragging Taguchi in by the arm. “Don’t just run out and hide after you’ve made a mistake. Shouldn’t you know better than that?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” Taguchi had been protesting, just as loudly.

“Don’t fight!” Nakamaru had finally exclaimed.

“Really, Akanishi?” Koki had drawled. “You’re going to drag stupid Taguchi into this?”

“Shut up!” Akanishi had shouted. “You want to clean up the mess instead?”

Koki had held his hands up. “Just don’t get caught.”

Nakamaru had stared at him, aghast. “Tanaka-kun!” He stormed forward, into Koki’s personal bubble. “You—help me!”

They had all started brawling then. Koki shoved Nakamaru back. Akanishi shoved Taguchi into the ground. Ueda had gone to try to interfere, and Kamenashi had pulled Ueda back, so Ueda had punched Kamenashi in the cheek.

And then what had happened?

“Jin was so mad,” Taguchi was saying, in that lost distant voice. He continued to roll the bottle of yellow Gatorade in his hands, back and forth and back and forth. “And he kicked me in the knee.”

Akanishi’s foot lashed out, connecting with Taguchi’s knee. Taguchi crumpled further, and Nakamaru turned away from Koki to try to pull Akanishi away, shouting, “Don’t fight, don’t fight!”

Kamenashi clenched his hand against his cheek. “I’ll tell Koichi!” He shrieked at Ueda. “I’ll tell, I’ll tell!”

“Go on then,” Ueda spat back. “Tell Koichi-san. I’m sure he’d love to hear about how you and Akanishi can’t clean up your own messes.”

Kamenashi glared. “He’ll never stand for you punching me in the face.”

Ueda sneered back. “I think you’ll find that Koichi-san doesn’t care about you as much as you think he does.”

Taguchi said softly, “Koki-kun?”

Koki jerked from the reverie. Taguchi had stopped rolling the bottle around in his hands, and had set it with his bag. “Taguchi,” he said, finally. “Why did you remember this fight?”

Taguchi stared at Koki, mouth slightly parted in surprise. “Why?”

“The whipped cream fight,” Koki said. He stood up, wiping a hand on his sweatpants. “Why would you remember it yesterday?” He took a deep breath. “Do you really think I would kick you in the knee the way Akanishi did?” His hands clenched on the bottle. “Do you really think—”

Taguchi stared back.

“Taguchi—”

He said, “I don’t believe you would ever hurt me the way Jin did.”

Koki sighed. “Just so we’re clear,” he muttered. He grabbed his bag and walked to the other side of the room. “And you should stop calling him that. We’re meeting to kick him out today.”

“Why don’t you call me Junno?”

Koki turned around.

Taguchi had stood up, his bag slung on one shoulder, holding the bottle with his other hand. “I thought we had agreed to use first names in KAT-TUN.”

Koki didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he turned away. “When I call you Junno without anybody to see us, it won’t be because of some manager telling us what to do.”

Taguchi said, “I see. Thank you, Tanaka-kun.”

He said, “You can keep calling me Koki, if you want.”

Taguchi said, “I think you prefer Tanaka-kun.”

He didn’t, but he nodded, tightly, all the same.

*

The room was unnaturally silent.

KAT-TUN, as a band, had never been particularly quiet. They were loud and violent and their image had never been updated since that first fight; a wide-eyed tabloid reporter had caught them shouting and now they were stuck with it. Oh, they had their moments, but the silence was sparse—brief pockets interspersed between shouting matches and debates. KAT-TUN was silent in the brief moments before discussions and after rehearsals, before performances and after interviews.

They were quiet now. Koki meticulously studied his nails; the varnish was chipping at the tips, but otherwise it was neat and smooth. It kept him from having to look into Akanishi’s face.

Their manager cleared his throat, realizing that nobody was going to talk. “As a group,” he began.

Akanishi snorted.

Their manager coughed, loudly. “As a group, KAT-TUN has decided to continue as five members.”

Akanishi sneered, “I wasn’t part of this decision.”

Koki looked up; Akanishi was sneering at Kamenashi and Kamenashi was staring back with Kimura Takuya’s wide, doleful expression sloppily cut-and-paste onto his face.

Ueda stared out a window into the American summer. Nakamaru’s mouth twisted towards into an uncomfortable grimace. Taguchi’s eyes were wide, his mouth firmly pressed shut.

Their manager said, “KAT-TUN has made their decision.”

Koki closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Akanishi’s face. It let him avoid seeing the triumph in Kamenashi’s upturned chin, Kimura Takuya’s smile incongruent on Kamenashi’s long, thin face.

*

Koki said, “Surprised you didn’t say anything yesterday.”

Taguchi looked up.

Taguchi had been sitting at the table, a to-go cup of coffee in his hands. Koki had meant to arrive early, before anybody else, so he could catch his manager and ask him what his role would be in five-man KAT-TUN. With Akanishi gone, he had a chance to properly shine.

He had arrived early, but Taguchi was earlier.

Taguchi said, “I didn’t know what to say.”

Koki sat down across from Taguchi. “You had a lot to say at the meeting without Akanishi.”

“I didn’t know what to say to Akanishi.” The light was stark against Taguchi’s clean face. They hadn’t been wearing makeup recently as they hadn’t been performing. Since their arrival in the US, it had been one long meeting after another. The harsh light made him look tired, pallid.

“Maybe that you didn’t want him to leave.”

“But I did,” Taguchi leaned forward, conspiratorially. Koki couldn’t help leaning forward to meet him halfway. “I wanted him to leave. We all did.”

He leaned back and snorted. “I didn’t think you bought into that nonsense that our managers say.”

Taguchi laughed, loud and raucous.

Koki took a deep breath. “Be serious, Taguchi.”

“I can’t read the atmosphere, remember?” Taguchi grinned back. When Koki’s deadpan expression didn’t change, Taguchi’s grin slowly faded. “What do you want me to say, Tanaka-kun?”

The paint was peeling in the corner of the window sill.

Koki said, “You were so convinced we need that idiot.”

“His voice.”

He laughed, sharply. “What does Akanishi have that we can’t do?” The windowsill was painted white, and it gleamed in the light. If it weren’t for the fact it was peeling, Koki would have thought it was still wet.

“You don’t actually believe that.” Taguchi said. “You know that Akanishi’s voice—”

“What does it matter if he’s got a better voice!” Koki jerked his eyes away from the wetly peeling paint. “It’s not like that even matters. All that matters is if you’ve got a pretty face.” And a can-do attitude. He had scrubbed that thoroughly out of his image years ago.

Taguchi’s eyes flickered behind him.

“Tanaka-kun,” his manager said from the doorway. “I see that you’re upset over Akanishi-kun’s departure.”

“Like hell,” he sneered on instinct.

His manager’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth pulled tight. “Tanaka-kun,” he said, mildly. He glanced at Taguchi. “Why can’t you be more like Taguchi-kun?”

Taguchi laughed sheepishly.

“If only all of KAT-TUN were as well behaved as you and Kamenashi-kun, Taguchi-kun.” His manager smiled at Taguchi before frowning at Koki. “We’ll be rehabilitating your image, Tanaka-kun.”

Koki snorted, but bit back the snide response. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Coming early is a start,” his manager continued. “But your attitude is the real issue.”

“Should I leave?” Taguchi asked. “I was waiting for my manager, but if you would want to use the meeting room…”

“See! Be more like Taguchi-kun. Polite. Hardworking. All of the other groups are polite and well-mannered. It’s only you, leading KAT-TUN astray, that led to Akanishi-kun leaving.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that bastard leaving!” Koki lurched to his feet. “It’s so easy for you to blame me. It’s so easy for you to say, ‘Ah, it’s that Tanaka-kun’s fault,’ but Akanishi was a mess on his own and you know it!”

Taguchi flinched.

It was minute, just a slight twitch of his body. Underneath the table, Taguchi’s leg tucked closer into his body.

Koki sat back down again.

His manager looked at him. “Nobody will say that you caused Akanishi to leave if you sit put and smile.”

Koki bared his teeth.

“Don’t think,” he said, “that KAT-TUN can’t be a four-member group.”

Taguchi murmured, quietly, “Koki is more valuable than Jin was.”

His manager looked at him.

“I don’t think I could rap _Real Face_ ,” he said, laughing ruefully. “But I could sing Jin’s parts.”

Koki scowled. He didn’t need Taguchi to defend him. “Sure,” he said, crossing his arms and focusing back on the peeling paint in the corner of the windowsill. 

“You’re a good kid, Taguchi-kun.” Koki’s manager eyed him speculatively. “You could learn from him, Tanaka-kun.”

“Fine.”

His manager nodded.

*

“You didn’t have to do that,” Koki said, eying the vending machine. It was full of carbonated sugar in brightly colored cans. “He’s always like that.”

“It’s true,” Taguchi said from behind him. “I wouldn’t be able to rap _Real Face_.” 

“I thought you said that we needed Jin’s voice.” Koki mocked. He turned around, leaning against the vending machine. It creaked, but otherwise remained still.

Taguchi grinned. “I could sound like Jin, don’t you think?” He tossed his hair and smirked in a barely passible imitation of Akanishi.

Koki snorted. “Don’t stop practicing your puns.”

He laughed.

“Hey,” Koki said. “Thanks.”

Taguchi stopped laughing, looking at Koki for a long time. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

Koki brushed past, knocking gently against Taguchi’s shoulder. “See you at the next meeting. We’ve got albums and concerts to plan.”

“Yeah,” Taguchi said.

*

Ueda glanced at him, sharply. “Ready to make up for Akanishi?”

Koki snorted. “Everybody’s asking that.” He took a deep breath. He couldn’t get enough of the stale air of the meeting rooms in the Johnny’s building. America had been nice, but his blood called for Japanese soil.

“You can’t only rap anymore,” Kamenashi said, worrying his lower lip for a second, before he realized what he was doing and sat up straight, putting his hands primly in his lap.

“Sure,” Koki said. “I sang before I started rapping, I know how to do it.”

Taguchi was staring out the window. He looked over, and briefly smiled. 

Nakamaru said, “Will I still be beat-boxing?”

“A lot of things will have to change,” Kame said, lifting his chin up. “Now that Akanishi is gone for good—”

“For good?” Ueda muttered under his breath.

Kamenashi scowled, before his Kimura Takuya face slid back on again. “I think we all need to divide up Akanishi’s lines of our old songs. I’m happy to sing more. Did you hear from Johnny yet? He says that I’m to be the K and the A of KAT-TUN. I only want KAT-TUN to be the very best it can be. It’ll be hard for all of us to add more lines, and we might have to change the choreography, but I am more than happy—”

“Sure.” Ueda nodded, rolling his eyes. Koki was tempted to join him, but he suspected the minute he rolled his eyes Taguchi would give him a disapproving look in lieu of his manager. 

None of their managers were in the room—it was a KAT-TUN-only meeting, and one of them would have to join their managers and the producers with a coherent plan. They had been meeting for a week already, and every conversation had been derailed by Kamenashi’s incessant reminders that Akanishi Jin was gone.

Ueda heaved a sigh. “It’s going to be hard. We all have to put in more effort. Now can we get back to the real issue? We have an album to plan and a concert tour—”

Kamenashi stood up, “As I was saying, since I am the K and the A of KAT-TUN now—”

“We know that we have to put in more work, but that’s not the issue.”

“Uepomu, just let me—”

“We don’t need another lecture from you!”

“Oh let him finish,” Koki drawled. “We’ll be at this all month otherwise.” He ignored Kamenashi’s grateful expression and Ueda’s scowl.

After the meeting, Kamenashi caught up to Koki, his eyes bright and alive. “Koki.”

“Kame.”

“It’s a lot of pressure on us,” Kamenashi confided. “Akanishi leaving is hard on all of us, even me. Did you know that Johnny’s saying that I have to be K and A?”

Koki laughed. “Course I do,” he said.

Kamenashi laughed back, light and young. “It’s exciting, but I’ll do my best.”

“Give KAT-TUN 100%?”

“More.” Kamenashi grinned, wide and happy and young. Koki was suddenly reminded that Kame was the youngest of them. “110%. 200%.”

“Good for you.”

“What about you, Koki?”

Koki blinked. “What about me?”

“How much are you going to give KAT-TUN?”

Koki laughed. “Oh, you know. As much as you give.”

Kamenashi pulled away, his smile fixed. “200%?”

“Sure.”

His eyes shuttered. He pulled away more, taking a step back, and then breathing in deeply. “Don’t tell, alright?”

*

Koki lounged on the ratty couch, eyeing the recording booth speculatively. Kamenashi was listening to the producer’s instructions over the speakers. He regretted taking his manager’s advice of showing up early. Who would have guessed that perfect Kamenashi Kazuya’s recording session would run late?

The door opened quietly. Koki looked over to see Nakamaru, holding a Styrofoam cup in a hand, a bag slung over the same shoulder. “Kame still recording?”

“I must have come really early if I’m here before you.”

Nakamaru shrugged, and Koki shoved over so Nakamaru could also sit on the sagging couch. They listened quietly as Kamenashi sang his lines again, his voice thin and reedy through the speakers in the room.

Nakamaru took a sip of his drink. It smelled heavily of lemon. “Is Kame’s voice going out?”

“He’s just tired,” Koki said.

“He doesn’t hit the high notes anymore.”

“We can’t all be Akanishi Jin,” Koki said. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

Nakamaru grimaced. “You noticed?”

“That you got too busy for me?”

“You seemed cozy with Junno. I didn’t see the need to interfere.”

Koki snorted. “I thought you of all people would be glad that I’m getting along with Taguchi.”

Nakamaru shrugged.

The speaker crackled a little. “Thank you, Kamenashi-kun. Taguchi-kun, we’re ready for you.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Kamenashi said, bright and enthused. He stepped out of the recording booth.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Nakamaru said. Koki echoed him.

Kamenashi smiled tightly. “Where’s Taguchi?”

“Dunno,” Koki said. “You sound great though.”

The speaker crackled again. “Tanaka-kun, we’re doing your part before Taguchi-kun’s.”

Koki levered himself off the couch. “Guess it’s me.”

“Where’s Taguchi?” Nakamaru wondered. “Do you think he’s fine?”

Kamenashi sunk into the couch. “I hope his leg isn’t hurt again. We’re stepping up our activities.”

Koki closed the door to the recording booth. “Please take care of me,” he said dutifully.

*

Koki walked into the dance studio to Ueda’s casual kick to Taguchi’s sneakers and Ueda’s drawl of, “Good for you.”

“Thanks,” Taguchi said, brightly. “Hi, Koki.”

“Hey.” He dropped his bag next to Taguchi, who was stretching, long legs splayed. He was the last one in today, apparently. Ueda’s track-bottoms had an ink stain along the left leg, and it gleamed wetly in the fluorescent lights. Nakamaru was bent over next to Kamenashi on the other side of the room, both of them changed into workout clothes. Kame’s shirt had sloppy English emblazoned on it: the name of a drama he had auditioned for but hadn’t gotten the role. “What’s Ueda congratulating you for?”

Taguchi beamed. “I have a dance solo!” Across the room, Kamenashi glanced up from where he had been murmuring with Nakamaru.

“Oh. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Good for you,” Ueda repeated. Kamenashi continued to stare at them, his expression eerily focused. “What song is it for?”

“Our new single.”

Ueda looked up. “The song we’re learning today?”

Taguchi nodded, and then the instructor bustled in, shouting at them to hurry up, they didn’t have much time.

Koki was normally first out of the door after dance practice, but he lingered this time. There was something jarring in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Kamenashi had scurried out first, his “Thanks for your hard work,” rushed as he hurried to a drama audition. Ueda and Nakamaru had sauntered out together later, and Taguchi had followed them.

The door opened. “Tanaka-kun?”

“Taguchi.” He glanced around. “You forgot something?”

“Just wanted to practice some more.” He dropped his bag by the door and bent down, touching his toes easily and then springing lightly up. “Were you going to use the room?”

“No. It’s all yours.” He slung his bag over the shoulder and went to open the door.

“Hey.” Taguchi’s hand was light against Koki’s wrist. “I want KAT-TUN to do well.”

“We all do,” Koki said. He shrugged, sharply.

Taguchi let go, his eyes wide, “I promised to give 200%.”

Kamenashi’s words from weeks earlier echoed in his head. His shuttered expression, and his request of: _don’t tell, alright_?

Koki turned around. “Who did you promise?”

Taguchi tilted his chin up, proudly. The fluorescent lights shone brightly on his dyed and curled hair. For a moment, Koki could see Taguchi front and center on a stage, all lights focused on him. For a moment, Koki felt small and insignificant, in his sweat-drenched tank top and ratty track-bottoms. 

For a moment, Taguchi looked unfamiliar.

Then he laughed, grinned, and said, “Everybody.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Isn’t that your bandmate?” Juri asked, sitting on the couch flipping through channels.

Koki looked over at the TV. Taguchi’s face gazed out into the room, his face contorted in a rictus of agony. “That’s Taguchi, yeah.” He stared at the face for a little longer, before the scene flickered to Ayase Haruka’s face, despondent.

Juri stared back at the screen. On screen, Taguchi ran through the streets of Yokohama, shouting in his tenor drawl. On screen, Taguchi looked every inch the charming princely type that Koki’s female classmates had fawned over. After Taguchi had unsuccessfully scoured the streets of Yokohama, Juri turned to him and asked, “When are you getting a drama?”

Koki rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch to stare at the ceiling. “That’s a good question.”

Juri tucked his legs into his chest. “Don’t you have tons of auditions?”

“Sure.”

The truth was, Koki wasn’t sure what place he was supposed to fulfill anymore. He had thought that with Akanishi leaving, there would be chances for him to act. If they couldn’t get Akanishi Jin, Tanaka Koki couldn’t be that bad. He got good reviews in every drama he acted in, even if he wasn’t sweeping the fan votes.

He put in good work and got good work out, but that didn’t seem to be enough anymore.

*

“Tanaka-kun, can you record earlier? Taguchi-kun said he would be late; he’s been asked to audition for another drama.”

“Tanaka-kun, we’re going to move your rehearsal later. Taguchi-kun needs extra time to practice his solo part.”

“Tanaka-kun, thank you for coming to this audition. Just wait while we finish up with Taguchi-kun.”

*

“Been busy, haven’t you?”

Taguchi looked up from his phone, his long legs stretched out on the couch. “I suppose?”

Koki stared at him. “You look terrible,” he blurted out.

He snorted. It was an ugly, inelegant sound. “Thanks, Tanaka-kun.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He slid into the room, slinging his bag onto the floor by the couch that Taguchi was sitting at. He obligingly swung his feet to the ground, making room for Koki to sit on the other side of the tiny couch. Up close, Taguchi looked even more exhausted. His eyes drooped, and Koki suspected that if Taguchi hadn’t been staring into blue light, he would have passed out.

Taguchi snorted again, before grinning, lopsidedly, at him. “I’ve been giving 200%.”

“Yeah,” Koki said. “I can tell. Have you slept recently?”

Taguchi laughed. “I sleep.” He raised a hand to self-consciously touch the bags under his eyes. “They didn’t look that bad this morning.”

“You could brew tea with those eye-bags,” he said.

He threw his head back and cackled. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still responsible for those terrible puns when we’re on camera.”

Taguchi grinned at him, open and honest. “I can’t let you take my charm-point.”

Koki snorted, stifling a laugh. “If you could even call your jokes a charm-point.”

“Rude.” Taguchi nudged his thigh with a sock-clad toe. “I’m very charming. The producers agree.”

Koki rolled his eyes. “Are cold jokes the latest trend?”

“Summer is coming; we have to keep cool somehow!”

From the doorway, somebody snorted. Koki glanced over to see Ueda pushing open the door with a shoulder, his hands full of bottles of water. “That’s terrible,” Ueda said. “Is that how you’re selling your puns now?”

Taguchi tiled his head back and beamed. “Uepi,” he said, fondly.

Something inside Koki twisted.

“Taguchi,” Ueda responded, curtly. “You’re early.”

“So are you!” Taguchi’s mouth stretched wider. “Kame isn’t here yet.”

Koki stared down at his hands. It had been a while since he had gotten them done up, and the ends were ragged and worn down. He rubbed a finger over the ragged edge of his thumbnail, doing his best to ignore Taguchi’s jittery excitement on the couch.

“Wonder of wonders,” Ueda said. “Kame late to his own meeting.”

“He’s been busy,” Taguchi said diplomatically. “We all have been, of course, but Kame most of all.”

Ueda snorted, “You’ve got a drama and that dance choreography stuff and you’re still early.”

“We can’t all be as charming as iriguchi- deguchi- Taguchi!”

Koki couldn’t help the kick to Taguchi’s feet. Away from the cameras, Taguchi didn’t hide the reflexive flinch away, a whole body twitch that pressed him closer to the arm of the couch.

Ueda said, “Your knee bothering you?”

Taguchi stared back and didn’t say anything.

*

“Thank you for your hard work. Taguchi-kun, stay behind for your solo rehearsal.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Taguchi-kun. I know you have an audition to rush to, so please leave early. The others will continue in your absence.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Taguchi-kun. Tanaka-kun, you could learn from him.”

*

Koki hurled his bag against the wall as he let himself into his apartment. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, flipping through his messages: Yucchi, Yucchi, Juri, Yucchi, Yucchi, Yucchi, Juri, Kame. Nothing from his manager. 

What on earth could Nakamaru had found so important to send him five messages?

He flipped to the oldest message, from Kame, and opened it.

_Rehearsal delayed tomorrow. Taguchi has filming. Gather at the regular time for a meeting! Don’t tell Taguchi._

Juri: _Will you be at the building tomorrow? Let’s get lunch!_

Nakamaru: _Why aren’t we telling Taguchi?_

Nakamaru: _Shouldn’t Taguchi know?_

Nakamaru: _We can’t afford to lose another member so soon!_

Juri: _Mom wants to know if you’re going to come by for dinner this weekend. Her mail isn’t working, so call her._

Nakamaru: _Never mind, I talked to Kame. Forget I sent those messages._

Nakamaru: _Don’t be late to the meeting tomorrow, Koki._

*

It felt wrong, sneaking into the meeting room that Kame had booked for them. Koki had prepared for this meeting by finding his most tattered tank-top and his baggiest jeans, painting four coats of black nail polish, letting each coat dry completely before uncapping the bottle to paint a new coat.

“I think we need to talk about Taguchi,” Kame said, pacing in tight circles in the front of the room.

Ueda’s eye roll was practically audible.

Nakamaru glanced at Ueda, before focusing on Koki. “Kame has a point,” he said quietly.

Kame straightened his back. “Taguchi hasn’t been committing to KAT-TUN.”

Again, Ueda rolled his eyes. Nakamaru frowned at him. Koki said, “What about Taguchi? Shouldn’t you talk to our manager if he can’t make the meetings?”

Ueda said, “You’ve missed meetings because of rehearsals too, Kamenashi Kazuya.”

“Are we using full names now?” Koki glanced at Kame, his back straight, his face carefully arranged into distress. “Should I call you Ueda Tatsuya?”

“We shouldn’t pretend that we’re friends if we aren’t. Not if you’re going to start the conversation by excluding one of KAT-TUN’s members.” Ueda lounged in the ratty couch. When NEWS and Arashi debuted, they got meeting rooms with sleek couches and hardwood tables. KAT-TUN had always ended up with chipped paint on the walls and rickety chairs. 

Nakamaru squirmed in his seat. The uneven legs thumped audibly against the linoleum. 

Kame’s face twisted into fury, before carefully, muscle by muscle, starting from the crown of the head and working down to the chin, returned to its facsimile of distress. “I think all of you as my friends.”

But not Taguchi, Koki thought, suddenly.

“We’re doing this together.” Kame spread his hands out. “We’re working together for KAT-TUN. Taguchi isn’t committed to KAT-TUN anymore. He’s off on his independent projects. His dramas. His—”

Nakamaru interrupted, “We’re just worried he’s going to leave KAT-TUN.”

Ueda snorted. “Sure. Tell me when he starts planning on going to LA to study English.” He stood up. “Is this seriously what you called the meeting for? To tell us that we should cut Taguchi out before he decides to be like Akanishi?”

“I’m doing this for KAT-TUN!”

“You’re the one who wanted Akanishi out so badly,” Ueda retorted. “Taguchi wanted to keep him; _he_ wanted to keep the band together. Don’t get mad that Taguchi’s getting more airtime now that Akanishi’s gone.”

Nakamaru said, hurriedly, “None of us are upset that Taguchi is doing well.”

“I’m not upset that Taguchi’s doing well. We just need to be cautious. Isn’t this how Akanishi Jin left? The extra airtime, and then the ego—”

Ueda snorted again. “Sure. Let’s keep an eye out for any signs of egomania.” He rolled his shoulders. “Anything else, Kamenashi-sama?”

Nakamaru grimaced. “We’re all concerned.”

Kame stared at Ueda. “I thought you would understand.”

Ueda sighed. His entire body seemed to sag into it. “I do, Kame. Kazuya.” He ran a hand through his dry hair. “Akanishi leaving was hard. And you’re tired and stressed. But it’ll work out. It’s working out, alright?”

He stared back, his face open and vulnerable. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Kame was the youngest out of all of them. “Right,” Kame said.

“I’m going to get some food before the official meeting.” Ueda jerked his head towards the door. “You want anything from the cafeteria?”

He shook his head. When Ueda glanced at Nakamaru and then Koki, they shook their heads mutely, and Ueda walked out.

Once the door had shut behind Ueda, Kame sagged into a chair. “I just want KAT-TUN to do well,” he said.

“I know,” Nakamaru reassured. “You’re doing your best.”

Kame glanced at Koki. “I know you’re chummy with Taguchi, but you can’t tell him about this meeting okay?”

Koki stared at Kame, slumped in a rickety plywood chair; Nakamaru, perched delicately in another chair. What would it be like, to have meeting rooms with real hardwood tables, to have chairs properly balanced? Maybe if KAT-TUN had been functional from the beginning, instead of all of them vying for a larger share of the pie, they would have debuted earlier, meeting in a room with proper chairs, with tables that didn’t wobble, with clean windows and smooth paint. Maybe, if KAT-TUN was functional now— 

“Sure.”

*

Nakamaru cornered him in the cafeteria the next day, sitting down with a plate of gyoza, placing it deliberately between them. “I’m thinking of cutting back my classes at Waseda.”

“Good for you,” Koki said, snagging a piece and chewing it slowly. It was less rubbery than usual, and Koki swallowed it pleasantly. “What brought this on?”

Nakamaru sighed. “Kame’s been so _tired_.” He poked a piece of gyoza, before saying, “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

“We’re all trying.” Koki thought of how he’d been early to every single meeting and recording session since Akanishi had left. Ueda had actually put in effort to performing the choreography correctly during their rehearsals, shattering any misconceptions any of them might have had about Ueda’s ability to memorize choreography—he had been half-assing it for years, and Koki had started to wonder if Ueda genuinely had trouble memorizing choreography. It was nice to be reminded that Ueda Tatsuya was simply an asshole who didn’t want to blend in with the rest of the group.

Nakamaru said, “Taguchi.”

“What about him?” Koki asked. Just last night, Taguchi had messaged him with a picture of his drama set, smiling among his co-stars, along with a cheerful emoticon and a: _ganbatte_. Koki had tried to muster joy that he was lying in bed, warm and comfortable while Taguchi was out running the streets of Tokyo in a thin suit, but had only managed to drudge up indifference to cover the lingering jealousy.

Nakamaru ate a piece of gyoza. “I hope he stops being late.”

*

Taguchi was late to rehearsal later that week.

It had been a terrible day already. His dog was antsy the entire night, and Koki slept poorly as a result. He stumbled into the building bleary eyed, having only gotten himself a cup of burnt coffee that scalded his tongue. When he made it to the studio, it was to a pursed-lip manager informing him that Taguchi Junnosuke-kun was filming a drama and would be late. Fetch the teacher when Taguchi-kun arrived, the manager instructed, and until then just sit in the studio and stretch.

Every minute they waited, stretching out their legs and rolling their heads around their necks, Kame grew more and more wound up. Nakamaru offered to help him stretch, but Kame’s shoulders grew tauter and tauter until finally Taguchi rapped once and then opened the door to the tiny studio.

“You’re late!” Kame exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “What took you so long?”

Taguchi blinked at them: Ueda, Nakamaru and Koki sitting on the floor in various stages of stretching, while Kame stood, hands on his hips, head thrown back. “I had filming?”

“You have to put KAT-TUN first,” Kame said, striding forward to herd Taguchi into the center of the room. “We don’t have a lot of time to learn this choreography. You can’t keep being late.”

“It’s my first time?” Taguchi said, bewildered. “Sorry for being late.”

“Let’s get started,” Nakamaru said, hurriedly. “Taguchi, do you need to stretch?”

Taguchi stared at them, slowly saying, “Yes, but it shouldn’t take long. Are we learning new choreography today?”

“I’ll go get the teacher,” Ueda said, standing up. “Why don’t you stretch while I fetch him.”

“Sure,” Taguchi said. Their eyes met, for a brief second, and Koki took in the confusion before he jerked his head away, refusing to meet Taguchi’s eyes. Instead, he stared at his own toes; in his peripheral vision, Taguchi dropped his bag and stretched out his leg, rotating his toes and loosening each muscle.

Koki focused on his own feet, pretending he couldn’t feel Taguchi’s gaze lingering on him. Instead he focused on the sound of Kame’s voice rising and falling, detailing all of the things they needed to work on, are you listening, Taguchi? You’ve been late, so pay attention, this is important.

Taguchi said, “Okay.”

Kame’s voice: _this isn’t a joking matter, Taguchi_.

Taguchi’s voice, humming in agreement, a smile in his voice, because Taguchi always smiled when he was with the group.

Kame said, “This is important. KAT-TUN is important, and we can’t have you dragging us down by being late!”

Koki looked up; Taguchi was stretching, occasionally glancing up at Kame and nodding, agreeably. Kame was pacing in tight zig-zags back and forth in the front of the room in a facsimile of Doumoto Koichi at his most irate; his face set in Kimura Takuya’s distressed expression. 

Nakamaru looked at Kame, and then frowned at Taguchi.

Taguchi said, “I’ll call ahead, next time filming runs long.”

“You shouldn’t be late in the first place!” Kame shouted.

Koki jerked up. “Hey. Relax, Kame.”

Kame whirled on him, and Koki stared into Kimura Takuya’s face. “What do you mean by that, Koki?”

“Why are we shouting?” Ueda interrupted, walking into the studio with the teacher behind him. “I didn’t realize that we were fighting again. Should I call the tabloids so they get the inside scoop?”

“Sensei,” Taguchi said, rising to his feet. “I apologize for being late. Filming ran long. I asked my manager to let everybody know, but I’ll call personally, next time.”

“You’re fine, Taguchi-kun,” the teacher said, glancing at them. “Your manager let me know already, and you learn the choreography fastest anyways.”

Kame’s face contorted, Kimura’s expression slipping away to reveal a flash of frustration that was entirely Kame’s.

Taguchi bowed.

*

Right after rehearsal, Kame grabbed his bag and stormed off, muttering “Thank you for your hard work,” to Nakamaru and deliberately turning his back on Koki.

Ueda glanced at Kame’s retreating back before turning to Koki with a raised eyebrow. Nakamaru, slowly gathering his belongings, gave him a pointed look.

Koki ignored Taguchi’s questioning gaze in favor of shoving his water bottle back into his bag. He shouted a hasty “Thank you for your hard work” to the room in general—his manager would kill him if he didn’t at least pretend that he was rehabilitating his image—and then hurried after Kame.

“Hey. Kame.”

Kame sped up; one hand slipped into his pocket and fished out an earbud to jam into his ear.

“Kame, I know you can hear me.”

He could see taut fury in Kame’s shoulders as he turned around. For a fleeting second, Koki wished that the directors of all of those dramas that Kame acted in could catch this. Then, Kame snapped, “What?” his voice shrill with anger, and Koki couldn’t help the involuntary step back. Kame truly angry was not as photogenic as he liked to pretend he was.

“Look, I didn’t mean to act like I don’t care about what you’re doing.” Koki scowled before schooling his face into a contrite apology. “You’re working hard, I know you are. And it’s rough, but we’re here for you. All of us.”

Kame looked away. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

He heaved a sigh. “Come on, I had a rough night.”

If it had been Taguchi, or even Ueda, they would have taken the moment to leer at him and ask what he would have been doing to keep him up all night. Kame just frowned. “I’m giving 200%.”

“I know.” He raised his hands. “I know. You’re working harder than any of us. But we’re here for you. We’re helping you. All of us. Nakamaru told me he’s cutting back on his classes next semester, and Ueda’s even been learning the choreography properly instead of just half-assing it.” He thought of Taguchi, leaning into him, soft waves of hair curling into Koki’s eyes, and the careful way Taguchi stretched out his knee before and after every practice. “And Taguchi—”

Kame grimaced.

Koki hurriedly continued, “They’ve been giving him a lot, but he’s really working hard, and he’s—”

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Kame interrupted. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

“Taguchi?” 

“He’s asking for more and more lines, more and more roles. He’s trying to take over my spot. He’s mad that Akanishi’s gone, and now he wants me out.”

Koki stared at Kame. He thought of the messages Taguchi sent to the group each night, pictures of Taguchi on drama sets, reminders that Taguchi had another audition lined up, another project. Was Taguchi trying to drive Kame out?

“He’s trying to kick me out of the band.” Kame’s fists clenched around the strap of his bag; Koki couldn’t help but stare at the way the strap wrinkled under Kame’s grasp. “KAT-TUN is all I have, Koki, and Taguchi wants to take it away from me.” Kame’s eyes were wide, and lost. “He’s doing it on purpose. You won’t let him hurt me, will you, Koki?”

He stared at Kame and thought of Taguchi, asking why Koki didn’t call him Junno. 

“We’re friends, right, Koki? You won’t let him hurt me, right, Koki?”

_I think you prefer Tanaka-kun._

“Course not, Kame,” Koki said. Kame’s hand crept into his. Koki squeezed, gently, trying to convey stolid friendship.

“I knew I could count on you,” Kame murmured, his lips curving up.

“Of course.” Koki took a deep breath. “Of course, Kame.”

*

That night, Koki took five highlighters and the lyrics to the songs of their next album. He highlighted Kame’s lines in yellow, Taguchi’s lines in green, his lines in blue, Nakamaru’s lines in purple and Ueda’s lines in pink. Then he balled up the print-ups and hurled them into a corner, where his dogs scampered after the wads of paper and yipped excitedly at them until he picked them up and threw them, again, and again.

No matter how often he threw them, it didn’t change the pervading envy as he saw fluorescent green ink spreading across each page.

The next day, Koki didn’t say anything when Kame took one of Taguchi’s bottles of Pocari Sweat.

Taguchi didn’t say anything, not even when Kame twisted off the cap and drained it over the course of the entire rehearsal.

*

Koki arrived early, as he had been doing, to find Taguchi talking to a producer, his long lean form bowed over so they could put their heads together and murmur quietly.

“Tanaka-kun,” The producer said, noticing him.

Taguchi beamed at him. “Tanaka Koki,” he greeted.

“Hey,” he said shortly. When did Taguchi get so chummy with the producers? Was this why he had drama after drama lined up, line after line of songs unflinchingly passed to him for his voice to perform?

Taguchi said, “We’re talking about adding a solo dance break to our new single. They’re very popular in Korean groups.”

“We’re Korean now?” Koki said, going for curious and instead sounding brusque. 

The producer frowned at him. “Taguchi-kun is a very talented dancer. With Akanishi gone, KAT-TUN needs to reinvent itself.” He nodded at Taguchi. “You would do well to be more like Taguchi-kun.”

He remembered Kame, just days ago, accusing Taguchi of trying to take KAT-TUN away from him—from all of them. “KAT-TUN doesn’t need to change.”

“Change is inevitable.” The producer jerked his chin towards Taguchi. “Taguchi-kun is wise enough to recognize that. You couldn’t have thought that you could continue to muddle through without Akanishi.”

Koki thought about retorting, and then kept his mouth shut. The producer patted Taguchi on the back affectionately, said: “I’ll talk to the choreographers about your dance solo, Taguchi-kun. You keep working hard,” and left.

Koki stared at Taguchi. “Taguchi,” he said, finally.

Taguchi stared back, his eyes wide before the edge of his mouth softened into the barest smile. “I’m doing this for KAT-TUN.”

He said, “Maybe I don’t like what this new KAT-TUN is,” and turned away.

*

He called his manager that night. “Sorry, Tanaka-kun. I don’t have any auditions lined up for you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be managing me? Isn’t my success your success, and all that?”

There was a long pause, and his manager said, “I don’t know where you heard that.”

Koki scowled at his phone. “I want to sing more lines.”

There was a long pause, and then his manager said, “Where do you think these lines are going to come from?”

“Since Akanishi left—”

“Who do you think took over Akanishi’s lines, Tanaka-kun?” There was a pause, and papers shuffled, and he said, “You waited a little too long to ask for work.”

“Taguchi,” Koki said, and the name tasted like ash on his tongue.

His manager said, “I had such high hopes for you.”

*

“You don’t call him Junno in private, did you know that?”

Koki looked up as Kame slid next to him, sitting close enough that their thighs were touching. Koki could feel Kame’s body heat through their sweatpants.

Kame leaned in, grinning. “You never have. That’s how I knew.”

_When I call you Junno without anybody to see us, it won’t be because of some manager telling us what to do._

“Knew what?” Koki asked.

“That you’d be on my side.”


	5. Chapter 5

Koki tried to get lunch with Juri at least once a week. This week it was a Wednesday, and the two of them were sitting in the company cafeteria. The rice was cold and clammy, and he could feel his throat clamping down with each bite. At least he didn’t have a recording or practice today.

“Nii-san,” Juri said, slowly. “What do you think of Taguchi-kun.”

Koki choked on his rice.

“Everybody’s talking about him.” He stared at the uneaten bowl of rice. “They say—”

“Hey hey hey,” Koki said, hastily. “He’s your senpai, and you should show respect.” He could see other juniors glancing over at them, their faces wide open and curious. “I know that you’re close to KAT-TUN because of me, but this is Johnny’s, and well, you gotta show respect.”

“So what do you think of Taguchi-senpai.” He looked up. “Tsukada-senpai said that Taguchi-senpai’s kind, much kinder than Kamenashi-senpai.”

Koki closed his eyes and didn’t think of Kame taking drinks from Taguchi’s bag, of Kame whispering: _he’s doing it on purpose_ , of Kame’s angry accusations every time Taguchi wasn’t early to a meeting or a rehearsal or a filming.

Koki said, “You shouldn’t gossip about your elders,” and made a hasty show of checking his watch and bidding Juri goodbye.

*

“Aren’t you upset?”

Rehearsal had ended. Kame had stalked out, Taguchi following with a wide smile. Ueda had glanced at Nakamaru and Koki lingering over their bags before following Taguchi. It was just Nakamaru and Koki in an empty room, pretending they were tying their shoelaces. 

Koki said, “What’s there to be upset about?” Rehearsal hadn’t been terrible. Taguchi had been late, but he had called ahead hours earlier so Koki had spent the thirty minutes working on some raps. The new choreography was hard, but it wasn’t _too_ hard, and they had picked it up quickly. Ueda hadn’t even bothered to pretend that he only had left feet today.

Nakamaru looked at him, before staring at his shoes. “I thought you’d be upset about not being in the front.”

He pasted a grin and said, “Pretty ridiculous that Taguchi stands in front when he’s tallest, isn’t it?”

Nakamaru steadily unthreaded his laces and then bent his head over them again, hands moving slowly and steadily. “I know you’re upset, Koki. I am too.” He looked up, his mouth drawn. “When Akanishi left, I thought it meant more than just Taguchi taking his place.”

Koki stared at his shoelaces. “What did you expect?”

They sat in silence. 

“It’s been years,” Nakamaru said, finally. “Every year at Countdown, I think that it’ll change, and this year we’ll have more to show, but every year it’s Taguchi getting more and more parts. But sales have never been better.”

And their managers would never change anything as long as their Oricon rating stayed at the top and the money rolled in.

“Juri says,” Koki muttered, “that the juniors like Taguchi.”

“He’s got that friendly vibe going for him. He tells puns to the kids, the really little ones.”

“The new ones?”

“Yeah.” Nakamaru gave up on pretending to tie his shoelaces, leaning back on his forearms to stare at the ceiling. “They asked him to teach a bunch of Juniors some dance moves, and he agreed.”

He snorted. “Isn’t he too busy to come to our rehearsals on time?”

“Not too busy to go meet his adoring fans,” Nakamaru said a little bitterly. Nakamaru Yuichi wasn’t prone to bitterness, but after a few years, Taguchi was capable of bringing out the worst in all of them. “The kids love him. They think Taguchi-sempai is so cool.”

He could have been like that, Koki thought. Just had to smile more and grit his teeth and play happy families with the rest of KAT-TUN. Just had to bow his head and swallow his pride. Just had to admit that he was wrong.

Well, Koki thought bitterly, he was wrong. But it was too late for anything to change. Taguchi had stepped forward and slid his foot in the door that Akanishi Jin had slammed shut, and pried it open. It only cost him a knee that still didn’t work properly.

“Hey,” Koki said. They had at least thirty minutes before some other group came by to use the room and kick them out. “You remember that fight? With the whipped cream and tatami?”

“The one that the interviewers won’t shut up about?” Nakamaru sighed. “Sorry. I have a segment of it on Shounen Club again. Something about fighting within groups.”

Koki grimaced. “Yeah. Anyways, do you remember where Akanishi kicked Taguchi?”

“Shoulder, wasn’t it?” Nakamaru sighed again. “He was clutching it for a week afterwards.”

“Then,” Koki murmured. “How did he hurt his knee?”

*

In the next weeks, Ueda was irritable and snappy to everybody except Taguchi. 

“I asked Ueda if he would want to go solo,” Nakamaru confessed, when the two of them were lingering over their shoelaces again. They had a concert tour coming up, and they were changing some of the choreography so it would fit on the stage. Taguchi picked it up quickly, of course; Ueda had _committed_ to being as terrible a dancer as possible, so nobody bothered to make him work; and Kamenashi Kazuya could do whatever he wanted and nobody would care. Tanaka Koki and Nakamaru Yuichi, on the other hand, were ordinary folk who had to do their choreography properly, so they had been forced to stay behind and practice.

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He got snappy and said that Kame isn’t the center of the world.”

“Well, he isn’t,” Koki groused.

“Do you want to go solo?” Nakamaru asked. “Akanishi’s left, you know. The rest of us can leave too.”

“Leave KAT-TUN?” He shook his head. “Why would any of us do that?”

“I think that Ueda might want to,” Nakamaru confided. “He’s never said anything, but…”

Koki stared listlessly at the ceiling. “KAT-TUN will survive as a four-member group,” he said. His manager had made it clear, but he didn’t think his manager had thought that it would be Ueda leaving the group.

“Maybe not though,” Nakamaru finally said. 

“He’s chummy with Taguchi, isn’t he?” Koki ignored the little voice that said that he used to be chummy with Taguchi. “He takes Taguchi’s side in all of the fights.”

“Kane’s been high-strung lately,” Nakamaru muttered, “but Taguchi’s been late to every single rehearsal this month.”

Koki grunted. Taguchi with his stage-plays and his dramas and his special choreography sessions. Kame was busy, but he had the decency to show up to rehearsals on time. 

Nakamaru sighed. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally said. “Kame’s so angry, and now Ueda’s getting involved…”

*

Kame messaged him that night.

Koki stared at his phone, surrounded by his sleeping pets. He was tempted to ignore Kame’s message—just delete it, and say it got lost, but he opened it instead. Kame had written an entire essay denouncing Ueda’s flaws. 

“Okay,” Koki muttered, scrolling through. Kame had managed to both use emoticons every few words and compose a blistering rant about Ueda’s unwillingness to keep KAT-TUN together.

“I’m doing this for KAT-TUN,” Kame had typed, punctuating each word with a different emoticon. “Meanwhile, Ueda just goes around fighting with Yucchi in public!”

Nakamaru thought that Ueda wanted to go solo. His manager thought that KAT-TUN could survive as a four-member group. Still, his manager thought KAT-TUN could function without Tanaka Koki. Would the same apply for Ueda Tatsuya? 

All of them were disposable except for Kame and Taguchi. Taguchi had once spoken up in defense of him—would Taguchi do the same for Ueda now that he was on Taguchi’s side?

And if Ueda’s position was safe, then was his? 

He didn’t want to leave KAT-TUN. He hated it. Each day he woke up choked with resentment, and the feeling never went away, even as he went about his day. He had hated playing second fiddle to Akanishi and Kame, and he hated playing second fiddle to Taguchi even more. But he didn’t want to leave.

_Don’t think that KAT-TUN can’t be a four-member group._

If somebody was going to be kicked out, it wasn’t going to be him. 

“I’ll talk to Ueda,” he finally said, to reassure Kame. “I’ll tell him that we need to keep KAT-TUN together.”

Kame sent back a smiley face. That night, when Koki went to bed, it was to the familiar flicker of pride.

The pride was gone when he woke up. His dogs licked at his fingers as he ate breakfast, listlessly. He fed them, a feeling similar to dread curling in his gut. When had he become Kame’s lapdog?

Koki checked the group schedule; Ueda had a meeting with the producers for his solo in the early afternoon, and rehearsal today was cancelled. He guessed it was because Taguchi had filming. Still, it was convenient. He tracked down the conference room the producers had booked and flung open the door without knocking. “Fighting with Yucchi now?” Koki demanded.

Ueda sneered back. “The rumor mill runs fast, doesn’t it?”

Koki grimaced a little. He hadn’t thought this far. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you fought with Yucchi,” he said, but his voice sounded thin and listless.

Ueda snorted. “Did Nakamaru tell you that?”

“Kame,” Koki said. He had his pride. He wasn’t _Nakamaru_ ’s lapdog. Besides, Ueda hardly had any right to complain. He had thrown his lot thoroughly behind Taguchi.

“Kame?” he demanded. “How did Kame get into this?”

Koki muttered, “Everything is about Kame.”

Ueda glared.

“Look, just. Stop fighting with Yucchi.” He sagged against the doorjamb. Trust Ueda to take the wind out of his sails. “Kame gets upset when you fight with him.”

Ueda’s voice rose in incredulity. “Are you delivering a message from Kame?”

Koki laughed a little. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

*

The next week was tense; Ueda wasn’t fighting with Nakamaru in public anymore, but Taguchi was even more frosty than usual, offering lozenges every time Kame so much as made a snide remark under his breath.

Koki kept his head down, focusing on his plans for his solo. He had thought about doing something a little different, but the producers and his manager had greeted him with demands to know what rap he wanted to perform, so he had chickened out and offered the two ideas he had been nursing for a few weeks. 

“I’m doing a ballad,” Nakamaru said as they lingered in the dance studio. “And Kame’s doing a song with a whole story and plot, again. I guess Taguchi’s going to do a dance track and Ueda’s going to do something rock.”

“Kame’s solo’s probably going to be thirty minutes long when he finishes planning it.”

“I wonder how long Taguchi’s dance break will be, then.”

Koki chuckled perfunctorily. Taguchi’s dance breaks had been getting longer and longer, especially in his solo performances. Koki hadn’t believed Taguchi was capable of such passive aggressive competition with Kame, but every year he was proven wrong as Taguchi unveiled a new dance solo that was just as long, or longer, than Kame’s rigmarole of a solo performance. 

Koki thought that would be it, until Juri texted him the next day telling him that Nakamaru and Ueda had been seen fighting in the company cafeteria over Taguchi.

“What the hell,” Koki snapped at Nakamaru. “Haven’t we learned to not fight in public?”

“He’s writing Taguchi’s solo,” Nakamaru said, and Koki felt something cold twist in his gut. 

He didn’t say anything to Ueda or Taguchi for the next week, unable to open his mouth without something cutting threatening to come out. He could feel his manager’s eyes on him, expecting him to be polite, to be _good_ , so instead of saying anything, he focused on learning the choreography and his raps.

Then, he showed up to a meeting early and Ueda was the only person in the room. He opened his mouth to say something polite—something like _please treat me well today_ , and instead said, “So, you and Taguchi.”

Ueda didn’t look up. “You and Kame.”

Well, he probably deserved that. Koki sat and pretended that the words didn’t sting. He stared at his chipped nail polish and then checked his mail for twenty minutes before he gave up. “Where’s Taguchi?”

Ueda ignored him.

“Hey,” he snapped, standing to pull at one of his earbuds. “Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

Ueda scowled, snatching the earbud out of Koki’s grasp. “Don’t you?”

“I’m not Taguchi,” Koki snarled. “I don’t have a thousand drama positions lined up for me.”

“Are you jealous?”

Koki scoffed. “I’m not jealous of that idiot.”

“So what are you doing here?” Ueda smirked.

Koki sat down. “Well, I’ve got nothing better to do.” As he said it, he realized it was true. He hadn’t had anything other than his group activities in KAT-TUN to speak for.

Ueda snorted and slid the ear bud back in. “Me too.”

They sat in silence, but Koki felt something cold settle inside of him. “Hey.” He tapped the table in front of Ueda, and when Ueda didn’t respond, pulled the earbud out with a raised eyebrow. “Do you remember the fight?”

“Whipped cream on tatami?” Ueda asked sardonically. “Who doesn’t remember the fight?”

“Where did Akanishi kick Taguchi?”

“Knee,” he said curtly. “Is that it?”

“No.” Koki ignored Nakamaru’s voice telling him it was Taguchi’s shoulder. “Are you going to go solo?” he asked to shut it up.

Ueda snorted. “What’s with everybody asking me that? No.”

“But you’re writing songs,” Koki pointed out. Ueda was writing Taguchi’s solo, and he bet that Ueda was writing his own as well.

Ueda said, “You’ve been writing raps since before we’ve debuted. It doesn’t mean you’re going solo.”

He had thought about it though. He had contemplated leaving KAT-TUN more than once, and ever since Taguchi had filled up the space left behind when Akanishi left, he had been contemplating it more and more. He woke up every morning resenting the fact that he had been shoved aside, and he nursed dreams of solo fame every night.

“You can tell Kame that his precious group is safe from me,” Ueda snarled. “I’m not going to leave.”

He shoved the earbud in, and Koki sat in silence until the others arrived.

*

Juri came over that night. They sat on the couch watching TV, Koki nursing that tiny bud of bitter resentment until he could no longer stand it. “Hey. Juri. Want to paint your nails?” 

Juri looked up. “Can I get them painted black like you?”

“Sure.” He fished out his black nail polish. “Mine’s been chipping anyways.”

His younger brother looked at him, his gaze unerringly old. “Ichiro says his older sister says that it’s bad if you don’t let your nails rest a bit between coats.”

“Is that so?” Koki unscrewed the cap, balancing the tiny bottle carefully between his knees. “Who’s Ichiro?”

“One of my classmates. His sister really likes Taguchi—Taguchi-senpai—you know. She says that he’s got a real prince look. Hey, Nii-san?”

“Yeah?” Koki grabbed one of Juri’s hands and started painting, starting with the thumb.

He muttered, “All the girls seem to like the princely type.”

Koki laughed, but it came out ragged. All the managers liked the princely type too. It was how Kame had managed to leverage himself to popularity, and how Taguchi had climbed up to the top ranks. “Yeah, well, some girls like bad boys.”

KAT-TUN had debuted with a bad-boy image, after all. Topped the charts too, for a while. Then Akanishi left, and Taguchi stepped up. Taguchi was a prince-type, through and through, and the rest of them had twisted themselves up to match him.

At least Kame was still fighting the good fight.

“I don’t know if I want to be a bad boy,” Juri muttered. “I want to debut, you know? I want to debut and I don’t know if they want bad boy rappers.”

Koki ground his teeth and painted Juri’s nails perfectly, two layers of black lacquer, and a matte topcoat. “You should be whoever you want to be,” he said, finally. “As long as you’re happy with yourself, you won’t regret anything.”

*

Taguchi was always busy, and he didn’t ever seek Koki out, but they still worked for the same agency, in the same _group_ , and it was inevitable that they ran into each other.

“Taguchi,” Koki said, as he almost crashed into him in the hallway.

“Hi, Tanaka-kun!” He grinned, his damp hair plastered against his skull. “You’re here early.”

“So are you,” he said. Their meeting wasn’t until later that afternoon.

He laughed a little. “I’m working with some juniors. They asked me to choreograph a dance routine for Shounen Club.”

“And you didn’t tell them you were too busy?”

Taguchi’s smile faded a little. “I would have been overjoyed if one of SMAP-san had choreographed a dance for us,” he said, quietly. “Or Higashiyama-san.”

Koki would have been too. It would have meant that KAT-TUN was going somewhere. Still. “What about your knee?”

Taguchi’s eyes widened. “What about my knee?”

“Is it fine for you to go around choreograph dances for juniors?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You used to be more careful about it,” Koki said. Recently, Taguchi had been coming to dance practices late, rushing from an audition or filming or drama rehearsal. His stretches were perfunctory now. “Does it hurt?”

Taguchi stared at him, an expression something like bafflement wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. “No,” he said, finally. “Why are you so worried about my knee? The accident was years ago?”

And you used to flinch when anybody aimed at your feet, Koki thought. When had that changed?

 _When Akanishi Jin left_ , a small voice whispered in his head. When Taguchi realized he didn’t have to be scared anymore. 

“Just checking,” he muttered. “Don’t want an accident to happen when we’re on tour or anything like that.”

Taguchi smiled. “You don’t have to worry, Tanaka-kun. I’m giving KAT-TUN 200%.”

Koki smiled wanly back.

He said, “I’ve got a meeting,” and waved vaguely in the direction of the elevator. “I’ll see you—”

“Wait,” Koki said, before he could stop himself.

Taguchi waited.

“Are you happy?”

Taguchi smiled and said, “Of course!”

“No,” Koki said, before Taguchi could turn away. “I mean. Are you happy with yourself?”

Taguchi stared at him, and this time his smile was sweet. Koki remembered the brief moment between Akanishi Jin’s departure and Taguchi’s meteoritic rise. The quiet mornings and afternoons in the green room, the two of them sitting on a ratty couch—there had been something incandescent about those brief moments.

“Yes,” Taguchi said, at last, in a vague distant voice. “Yes, I am.”

*

Their concert tour was a success. 

Koki didn’t remember much of it. Each morning, he woke up dull and hazy, trepidation rolling around in his stomach. It eased as he sat for hair and make-up, and then came back when he saw Taguchi’s grinning face in the mirror. The time under the lights flashed by in a blur, and he promoted their concert goods and their new album and Taguchi’s new stage play and Kame’s new drama as if his mouth was disconnected to the rest of his brain. 

By the time he went to bed, his mind was reeling from the day, and he dreamed of the lights as if they were behind thick panes of glass. His clenched fist beat on it, but the glass never broke, and Koki woke with desperate yearning.

After their tour, KAT-TUN had a two week break. Taguchi and Kame went back to filming, and Nakamaru went back to taking classes. Koki watched a lot of television when he wasn’t drinking in clubs.

He had always liked club music. 

His manager sent him a few chastising messages—mostly to stop getting caught by tabloids—and Koki obligingly put on a hat for the next day before it took too much effort. Nakamaru sent occasional updates about his classes and the auditions that his manager had booked for him. Kame sent long emoticon-filled messages about his days filming.

Ueda sent him one message halfway through the break, just a comment on the latest tabloid article.

Taguchi didn’t message him at all.

When the break was over, Koki took a shower and painted his nails. Black, as usual. Halfway through his left hand, he capped the bottle and pulled out the clear varnish. He painted the rest of his nails with the unassuming transparent polish, and then eyed his hand thoughtfully before going into the office.

*

His manager didn’t have any auditions lined up for him.

“I’m very versatile,” Koki repeated.

“You’re a few years too late, Tanaka-kun,” and this time, his manager’s voice sounded regretful.

*

Their producers were pleased with how their concert tour had turned out. Their managers gloated over their respective idols in polite, vaguely competitive voices. Kame and Taguchi would be making some appearances on Shounen Club to promote their new solo activities. Ueda had gotten a minor role in a Kimura Takuya drama. Nakamaru’s grades were excellent.

Koki had gotten really good at holding his absinthe, but his manager didn’t find that a worthwhile enough accomplishment to brag about.

“I wrote some raps,” he muttered, finally. “I was thinking I could maybe help write raps for the juniors.”

His manager managed a wan smile.

Kame beamed. “That’s such a good idea, Koki,” he declared to the producers. “I told you that you could do it.”

Ueda snorted a little, but was ignored.

Taguchi smiled tentatively at him as well.

Nakamaru, who was fully aware that Koki had spent the entire two-week break watching television and drinking, didn’t say anything either. He frowned a little, and wasn’t it funny how Nakamaru was considered a successful idol when he showed concern so easily?

Taguchi’s mouth was still curved into that soft smile when he said, “Maybe we can do a hip hop song for one of our next singles. Koki can write a rap for all of us.” He glanced at Ueda. “And Uepi can compose the chorus.”

*

“Are you going to just let him do that?” Kame demanded when the managers had left, Taguchi and Ueda walking out with their heads bent together. “Are you going to let Taguchi run the meetings and walk all over you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nakamaru offered, as if Koki was concerned that Taguchi had suddenly taken an interest in his career advancement. 

“What do you want, Kame?” Koki muttered, well aware that he was probably Taguchi Junnosuke’s newest charity project. He had gotten Ueda into their producers’ good graces, and now surly, unappreciated Tanaka Koki was next. He sighed, leaning back against his chair. “It’s a perfectly good idea. It’s not my fault that Taguchi thought of it before you.”

Kame scowled. “I’m giving 200% to KAT-TUN,” he snapped.

“Yeah,” Koki said, “And so’s Taguchi.” He said, “And Ueda, probably. And Nakamaru too.”

Nakamaru said, “Koki?”

“And me,” Koki added, listlessly. “Me too.”

Kame slumped in his chair a little. “I just want what’s best for KAT-TUN.” His face rearranged into Kimura Takuya’s most doleful expression, and Koki eyed it through a distant haze. He had gotten so used to seeing Kimura Takuya’s expressions on Kame’s face that he was starting to forget what Kame’s emotions looked like.

“Yeah,” Koki said, suddenly yearning for the simple days when they were juniors. When he was young and stood out in the right way, with a nice smile and a can-do attitude. When Kame was thin and mousy and his smiles and enthusiasm was entirely his own. When Taguchi said things because he didn’t know how to read the atmosphere instead of pretending he was oblivious to the tension in the room. 

“Yeah,” Koki said, with simple want, “I know, Kame.”

*

Koki didn’t say anything when Kame took Taguchi’s water out of his bag and drank it.

Koki didn’t say anything when Taguchi began casually talking over Kame during meetings.

Koki didn’t say anything when Ueda and Nakamaru began fighting—short passive aggressive comments during meetings, or seemingly absent-minded criticisms during practices.

He called his manager about drama auditions. He talked about taking on more of a singing role. He talked about a hip-hop piece that would let him showcase his rapping talent.

His manager was kind about it. “I know you’re aware of this,” he said. “But KAT-TUN isn’t a five-member group. It’s Kamenashi-kun and Taguchi-kun’s group.”

“Yeah,” Koki said over the tight misery in his chest. “But Taguchi suggested the hip-hop song.”

His manager said, “I will talk to the producers for you,” but Koki was familiar with dismissals by now.

He went clubbing again that night, and lost himself in the press of warm bodies against his. He went to bed late, but he fell asleep to the sound of music thrumming in his bones for the first time in years.

*

Koki overslept and almost missed the next meeting. 

Meeting was a generous term. “Who died and made you king?” Kame was shrieking as Koki slipped in. He had been able to hear Kame’s voice from the hallway.

He glanced at Ueda, who was steadily ignoring Kame in favor of fiddling with his phone. Nakamaru was glaring at Taguchi. Neither Kame nor Taguchi were looking at him.

Taguchi’s back was straight, his hands loose against his sides. He smiled, but it wasn’t the wide grin of years ago or the soft smile that he had been giving Koki recently. The indulgence in Taguchi’s smile sent shivers up Koki’s spine.

When had Taguchi become so confident? When had Koki lost his purpose? When had KAT-TUN fractured itself into Kame’s faction and Taguchi’s faction?

Where did Koki belong, in this new KAT-TUN?

They had never been a close band. Arashi and NEWS aggressively promoted their affection for each other, but KAT-TUN had always scorned the concept. Koki couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they should have been a little less scornful.

He wondered if maybe he should have listened to his manager.

In the silence, Ueda looked to Taguchi, content to follow his lead. Nakamaru turned away from glaring at Taguchi, glancing at Kame and reading the fury in his expression with practiced ease. 

_As long as you’re happy with yourself, you won’t regret anything._

“Akanishi Jin,” Taguchi finally said, and his voice was no longer lost.

_Don’t think that KAT-TUN can’t be a four-member group._

Koki called his manager that evening.

*

“KAT-TUN will continue as a four-member group,” Taguchi said, his expression somber but pleasant. “Please keep supporting us.” He bowed, and the others bowed with him in a ragged line.

Koki turned off the television and stared at his hands. Then, in one steady move, he reached for the acetone and began cleaning his nails.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-writing commentary and notes are on an annotated pdf here:  
> [LJ Post](http://virdant.livejournal.com/64467.html)  
> [PDF only ](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/21188589/Bypass_annotated.pdf)
> 
> I wasn't going to port anything over, but I was really upset that I couldn't post Bypass the way it should be read. Since AO3 is better than LJ in this regard, I've decided to port over all of this AU. All post-writing commentary is still hosted on my dead LJ. Thanks for reading. Maybe in 3 years I'll have produced another story in this AU.


End file.
